Читать книгу The Survivor - Rhonda Nelson - Страница 8

LEX SANBORN HAD NEVER wondered what his last thoughts before dying would be, but he certainly hadn’t expected an intense craving for pineapple sherbet and having lines from American poet Alan Seeger’s I Have a Rendezvous with Death running through his mind.

I have a rendezvous with Death, at some disputed barricade, when Spring comes back with rustling shade, and apple blossoms fill the air…

The initial pain from the hit had receded, leaving a contented warmth in most of his body, an odd coldness at the site of the wound. His shoulder, he knew, more from the remembered pain of the injury and the absence of any real feeling now. Though he couldn’t open his eyes, he could hear them working above him, knew they were doing everything they could, and a part of him wanted to tell them to stop, to save someone who wasn’t going to die, that their efforts were wasted on him. He was finished. He could feel himself sliding further and further away, feel the blood leaving his body. Must have hit an artery…

But I’ve a rendezvous with Death, at midnight in some flaming town, when Spring trips north again this year…

“Lex! Lex, damn you, can you hear me?” Jeb, his best friend and fellow soldier, shouted near his ear.

He could, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t respond. Couldn’t do anything but drift away. He could feel himself getting smaller and smaller, shrinking into nothingness, and the nothingness felt wonderful, better than anything he’d ever felt before. A glow of euphoria started in his center and spread, his limbs going weightless. If he could have smiled, he would.

And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous.